enough for our Parisian friends, unless eked out by words.
‘The impassioned bolero and fandango are the dances for me. They are not merely loving, but living; they express the sweet Southern ecstasy at the mere gift of existence. These persons are together, they live, they are beautiful; how can they say this in sufficiently plain terms? — I love, I live, I am beautiful! — I put on my festal dress to do honor to my happiness; I shake my castanets, that my hands, too, may be busy; I felice, — felicissima!’
This first series of conversations extended to thirteen,
the class meeting once a week at noon, and remaining
together for two hours. The class were happy, and the
interest increased. A new series of thirteen more weeks
followed, and the general subject of the new course was
“the Fine Arts.” A few fragmentary notes only of these
hours have been shown me, but all those who bore any
part in them testify to their entire success. A very
competent witness has given me some interesting
particulars: —
“Margaret used to come to the conversations very well dressed, and, altogether, looked sumptuously. She began them with an exordium, in which she gave her leading views; and those exordiums were excellent, from the elevation of the tone, the ease and flow of discourse, and from the tact with which they were kept aloof from any excess, and from the gracefulness with which they were brought down, at last, to a possible level for others to follow. She made a pause, and invited the others to come in. Of course, it was not easy for every one to venture her remark, after an eloquent discourse, and in
